Secrets
by xBeautyintheBreakdown
Summary: ONESHOT. Helen's feelings for Hector.


Unbelievable. I never imagined the day when I would meet a man who could manage to escape unscathed by my beauty. I am not saying this out of conceit, nor am I saying this out of spite. It is just a fact: men adore and worship me. It is inevitable, like an unspoken law of nature; yet why is this man exempt from it? Why is he not affected by my charms?

His name is Hector, Tamer of Horses and brother to Paris.

Do not get me wrong; I love my Paris. My love for him shines as brightly as the sun, the moon, the stars. He is as fair as I, if not more so- with his fine, chiseled features, beautiful mane of silky blonde hair and brilliant cobalt eyes, he could pass off as a God. And I, Helen of Troy, can pass as a Goddess. It is only fitting that we be together. When we are, we illuminate and strike envy in every mortal's hearts. It is with Aphrodite's pleasure that we do.

But I desire more than that. I yearn for Hector, the bravest of Priam's sons, fiercest of warriors and noblest of men. Paris is beautiful, that much is true, but he is not brave, nor is he noble or fierce in battle. I always believed beauty mattered most, the sure source in power and happiness, but I was wrong. Hector proved that to me.

It is my deepest and darkest secret, but every day and night since setting foot in Troy, my body burns for Hector. While I make love to Paris, I think of Hector. When I'm weaving at the loom, I think of Hector. There isn't an hour that passes when I do not imagine what it feels like to be in his arms… Aphrodite is teasing me.

Perhaps it is Hector's power that arouses me, or the sheer fact that he does not pay attention to me. Maybe I just want to lay with him to prove that I, Helen of Troy, can conquer any man, weak or powerful. Or is it because of those gentle brown eyes, muscled body, rugged grin and unruly hair that draws me to him? I am not sure. All I am sure of is that this is a loathsome feeling, wanting something you cannot acquire. Paris's looks surpass Hector's by far. Yet why do I desire him so?

Does he know that whenever he speaks to me, politely, with not even a hint of lust, that every fiber in my being is screaming for him tear my clothes off, explore my heated body and have his way with me in the most brutal and passionate way possible?

Does he know that whenever he passes me, I just want throw myself into his strong arms and weep? Weep and tell him about how I know, always have known, that Paris is unfaithful to me?

Does he know that whenever he smiles and his eyes meet mine, my body heats up with uncontrollable desire and lust? That I long for him to relieve my desperate loneliness and unfathomable infatuation?

Does he?

Sometimes during the night, I ponder to myself. _Why does he not lust for me? _How can he resist my ocean-blue eyes, alabaster skin and plump breasts? I ask myself these questions, but deep inside I know the reason why.

And the reason is his wife, Andromache.

During dinner in the grand hall, my eyes always travel to Hector, though his eyes never stare back. Instead, they rest on Andromache.

I notice a lot of things. I notice how his eyes brighten whenever he looks at her, as if she were a priceless treasure. Or how they seem to intensify with passion whenever they touch. I notice how he always whispers in her hair, embraces her and laughs with her. How after he returns home from a trip, Andromache is always the first person whom he sees to.

It is obvious that he loves her, and only her, and I resent him for it. I resent the fact that they are experiencing true love, the one thing I have never felt in my life. I resent how she gets to lie in his bed, make love to the greatest hero in Troy, and I do not. I resent how his eyes always linger on her when they do not even spare so much as a glance at me. And I especially resent how his heart is completely hers.

What does Andromache possibly possess that I do not? How can he possible desire and favor that _woman, _over me? She is so plain, too tall for a woman! Her cheekbones are too high, her skin not pale enough! Her hair and eyes are too brown! She is not _nearly _as beautiful as I, and yet she is the owner of Hector's heart. I was always told that beauty could always win a man's heart. Apparently not. Granted, Andromache is pretty in her own way- but I am much, much better. This I know for a fact.

I, Helen of Troy, am jealous of no woman on Earth.

Except one.

And her name is Andromache of Troy.


End file.
